North Wind Rising
by striped-jaguar
Summary: AU: based on the Miramax film Chocolat. The Mayor of Hogwarts has the town wrapped around his little finger, and newcomers are not always welcome. When a Harry drops by, he ends up stirring up more trouble than he’d hoped for...
1. The Inevitable Winds

~~North Wind Rising~~

**Author's notes:** Hey all. Due to the encouragement of some of my friends, I have been compelled to write a story based on the ever-delicious movie _Chocolat, which of course, stars the ever-delicious Johnny Depp and Juliette Binoche, which I'm sure many people are already aware of. This story, however, has nothing to do with the storyline JKR has made, and so, is A/U (alternate universe). This means that Harry is not the Boy-Who-Lived, *ahem* is not dead (from OotP), Dumbledore is not headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and Voldemort is not hell-bent on taking over the world and killing muggles. _

The fic has a totally different plotline and the characters have all been sorta tweaked to my liking, sorry to say.  Harry, Hermione, and Ron have not yet met, (just to clear up some confusion) and the world is as normal as it our world can be. 

For now. *evil laugh*  

I don't own _Chocolat_, of course, so I can't really take credit for some concepts that I incorporate into my story, but I can recommend the movie to whoever may be reading this, because it really is a good film. It was nominated for five Oscars, I think? But, alas, didn't win. 

Really, I don't own Harry Potter either, and I'd hope that that much would be obvious. 

**Warnings:** None, really. I'll try not to swear too much, but I'm not promising anything. If there are any questions, feel free to ask, and I'll do my best to explain, though I'm not even sure that _I_ have a firm grasp on this story…

Comments and criticisms are much appreciated. 

Enjoy!! 

~~ stripes

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Chapter One: The Inevitable Winds. 

In the quaint little town of Hogwarts, Diagon, the sun had just recently set quietly behind the lush green hills of the horizon. The moon, now in its element, high up above the earth, had begun to wane. 

            The birds had chosen to take shelter in their nests early tonight, tucking their heads under their wings, burrowed safe deep within the thick foliage of the tall trees littering the village. And the leaves themselves whispered amongst each other excitedly, as they quivered softly, for they could feel the stirrings of Things to Come. 

            The clouds had begun to roll in; covering the blackening sky with their thick wool, shrouding the pale glow of moonlight…and the night was silent. All that could be heard was the occasional chirp from a lonely cricket, or a hoot from a restless owl, or the increasing squeaks of the rusty old weathervane arrows, from their place upon the Hogwarts' rooftops, as they twirled. 

            This meant that the Wind was arriving. 

            In her cozy little apartment in the middle of Hogsmeade District, Hermione cast another anxious look at her balcony window, and the darkening skies overhead. 

            While sitting in her cushy armchair in front of a crackling fire, Hermione Granger was in no danger at all of getting caught up in the foreboding storm. But still, as the young woman chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully, one couldn't help but worry.  As hard as it was to admit, the schoolhouse had definitely seen better days, and the coming rainfall was sure not to do a speck of good. 

            Hermione sighed and averted her eyes from the troublesome scene of graying clouds. 

            It was best not to worry about it, she supposed; her energy could be spent on other more worthwhile projects and anyways, one couldn't control the weather. The rain would drop down to the earth whether her schoolhouse was dilapidated or not. 

            The brunette picked up another set of papers. This one was written neatly: good for Susan. Obviously her mother had begun to take a sudden interest in her daughter's slipping English grades, when the girl had been warned with the hovering of a very fat F. 

            _// What It Means To Be A Good Citizen_

_                                                                                    by Susan Bones, class 3 _

_                                                                                           April 21 //_

            The school mistress sighed. She was starting to regret ever assigning this type of thesis for the children's essays. Independent thought and moral development were all well and good, but sheet after sheet of homework…as Hermione read and graded accordingly, she found herself feeling more and more helpless, and depressed, even. 

            At least the students were creative. 

            Well. She wouldn't go _that_ far. Truthfully, she meant that the majority of the kids all had an impressive vocabulary, so they had managed to say the exact basic thing their fellow student (and practically every other student in the class, for that matter) had written in a completely different set of words. 

            Hermione scowled. Was this a huge conspiracy? The whole town was out to do her in, she was sure. 

            Ok then, if she was in the mood of being sort-of-brutally honest with herself –

            She had assigned the purposeful theme in hopes of figuring out what kind of slapstick pile of horse dung the so-called "over-doting" parents had been feeding into the innocent minds of their children. 

            In all fairness, it wasn't really their fault, Hermione mused. She bit the end of her pen. 

            It was all so misleading, really. It was amazing that there was such a place like Hogwarts, such a safe, sweet little town that was of no great importance to the world but was there all the same (oh, _those type of places) still existed. That was what the town appeared to be on the outside. When you got right down to it, one could reason that the town really and truly __was like that, at heart. But all the goodness and friendliness had been murked over, as Hermione knew very well. It was that kind of thing that a stranger would never notice firsthand, but someone new coming to stay would begin to realize it slowly, like a flower's petals uncurling in the heat of the sun. Except Hogwarts' truth was not at all beautiful. _

            Oh, the town in itself was fine. 

            Bordered by a few gently sloping hills, the village was not overly populated, yet it retained a charming serenity about it, from its lightly cobblestone pathways to the flower gardens adorning people's lawn. The houses were rather too close together for Hermione's tastes, but it all added to the endearing quality that was Hogwarts. Beautiful woods edged both sides of the town, and dirt roads, worn from the transportation of passing travelers, ran along the edges of the thick forests. A blooming square of shops stood in the midst of it all, nearly dead centre of the whole area, where all the village streets would eventually lead up or down to. It was simple and elegant, and Hermione adored it. 

            But so terribly close-minded, everybody was. 

            She was now referring to the people. 

            _// A good citizen's first duty is to protect their township, and to keep it clean and safe. This means taking care of children, attending church weekly, and doing good stuff for the comunity while keeping wicked things out. _

_            A good person, which a good citizen must be, you see, can show pity and compassion, and is helpful to others, but not to the people who do not deserve it. //_

In Hermione's opinion, everyone on Earth deserved a little kindness when their luck was down. But the town, it had been taught to judge before you learn, and to see in order to judge. See the outside appearances, she corrected herself. The people of Hogwarts were all so terribly misled.

            If Miss Granger had to point fingers at someone to blame all of the horrible prejudice and stereotypes that the people of Hogwarts were in habit of calling forth, she would automatically respond clearly and doubtlessly: "Lucius Malfoy."

            The dear mayor. 

            The dear mayor had done something very special to the inconspicuous town in Diagon. He had managed (how, Hermione couldn't even begin to imagine, nor did she want to) to wrap an invisible blindfold over all the townsfolk's eyes and ears, smothering things like sympathy and empathy and good ole fashioned decency. Oh, it was all so terribly complex, but then again, it wasn't. But Hermione despised it, and had hatefully dubbed the stupidity, if one could call it that, as a virus, one that plagued the general population of her plain little town. She, as far as she could tell, was the only one that seemed to have not gotten pulled in by the cursed tides of misleading lies. 

            She supposed one could classify the problem as a 'fear of God', but somehow in Hogwarts, the righteousness that was associated with the Almighty had been twisted just so, that it was really a 'fear of Lucius Malfoy'. The result? All the village people were deathly afraid to do things, say things, or even think things that might upset their church, which in itself was controlled by the puppet strings of the mayor. All things sacrilegious and blasphemous were avoided, like sinful pleasures and foul words, but the situation had gotten to a point where anything that Mayor Malfoy did not approve of were deemed 'unholy' and they would perhaps be mentioned as fleeting words in a prepared sermon at church (which in itself was written practically on Malfoy's whims), and then, like obedient dogs, the villagers would treat the newly stated 'wicked thing' like the plague. 

            Hermione wondered very much how Lucius Malfoy retained such a dignified, respected reputation when he was blatantly a cruel, scheming devil who was addicted to power. Hermione somehow always felt, since she had taken up her teaching job over three years ago and was therefore still the most recent resident of Hogwarts that had set up a permanent home, that she was the only one who could see him for who he was. 

            It disgusted her. 

            An example, if you will: the mayor had not liked the homeless clogging up the alleyways, so the minister had labeled them as 'proof of Satan's cursed disease' the following Sunday. There soon were no people looking for some temporary shelter roaming in Hogwarts' streets. Such situations of obvious cruelty as this were common here, and Hermione couldn't do much to stop it. She was powerless against City Hall.   

_            // The valew of a citizen is deemed through the mayor of the town. A good citizen will obey their mayor, the royale family, and there God. // _

Good Lord, Hermione grimaced, as she circled the spelling and grammatical errors. The girl had classified a mayoral position as practically equals to kings and queens! Malfoy had the whole town wrapped around his little finger. 

            If there was only someway - or someone – to loosen the ties, then sever the string entirely from his grasp. 

            Oh, yes, Hermione certainly had tried once. Attempted, and had failed. It was part of the reason she became a schoolteacher and opted to stay in Hogwarts, to maybe get through to the fresh, eager minds of the youth, the next generation, to make them see that they were being played with more than a guitar at a folk festival. 

            But no avail. 

            She had been threatened, first with a cleverly written letter she received in the mail, warning her to teach less 'controversial' topics in the classroom or she would be dismissed, and then, when she did not let up, she had been faced with an eviction notice to her apartment, at which point she knew that if Lucius Malfoy had anything to say about her situation, (which he did, of course) she might've been exiled from the town completely. 

            _// Good people are not wicked, and have pure thoughts and do not create unneccesary trouble for their township or for themselves. This is wise, as my mother says. We all have our own place in the werld, and it is not in our right to meddle with out pisition Being a good citizen sometimes means sacrifice, and sometimes happyness must be put behind other pryoritees. This is something I was taught as a baby._

_  A good citizen must respect the rules and order of the werld. I think that you would not have to work too hard to be one, but as long as certain manners and people are obeyed, you should be fine. //_

Balderdash. 

            They simply couldn't think for themselves. Why were they all so weak? 

            Blast and phooey. 

            Hermione put down the paper. She hadn't the heart to mark it now, when she was in such a nasty mood. The children did try their best after all, and she was not one to judge. If she had grown up in this gentle little village, with its friendly looking houses that cast long, sinister shadows, she doubted that she'd be in a better mental state than these children were presently. 

            The young woman glanced again at the window, noticing that the trees had begun dip heavily, their leaves dancing wildly and braches thrashing against the stone bricks of the buildings, and the chilled air was blowing quite fiercely. 

            She clucked her tongue in annoyance and straightened the pile of submitted homework on her desk. She'd have to finish them another day. It was getting late anyway, she was tired, and tomorrow did not promise to be sunny. Hermione stretched and yawned. She stood up, tossed some water onto the fire and headed to her bathroom; mind focused on a soft warm bed and sleep…she could worry about the essays, the shape of the schoolhouse, the mayor…later…save it for another time. 

            As the winds raged outside, the clouds loomed over the shingled rooftops, and they crackled ominously with impending doom. The people of Hogwarts were snuggled deep under their covers, sleeping contently, and all the windows in the town were shut tightly against the terrible weather. 

            As the night wore on, the winds did not let up. The houses creaked and groaned under the strain of the force, and the trees desperately craved a rest from their constant swaying. All the nocturnal animals had become quiet, and all the weather vanes swiveled in one direction. 

            The prevailing North Wind brought the cold and frost, the clouds, and the occasional thunder crack or lightning flash, but it did not bring any rain. It was not _that_ type of wind, really, and so brought no storm to the sleepy village of Hogwarts. 

            It did, however, bring the tidings of quite something else. 


	2. The Mysterious Stranger

_North Wind Rising_

Notes: Ok! Here we go again! This chapter was actually finished in September (augh, I know!) and it has been sitting in my folder waiting to be proofread before stripes had the heart to post it. . Sorry for the delay Riyo-chan! If it wasn't for your constant, impatient demands, you might not be reading this now! Haha…stripes is very lazy and doesn't dedicate herself to her works as some very good authors do. Yikes. 

Moving on. Hopefully, this will be the most boring chapter of the series, and I'm not sure that anyone would actually get through it without skimming several paragraphs (I know I would) but I had to establish some concrete roots into the ground before I let the plant blossom. (Look, another metaphor! And it actually makes sense this time! ß Ignore this, it's an inside joke…eheh…yeah, sorry.) So, read this and get it over with now, and you can not be confused later. Ok? Hope you like! And don't forget to comment and stuff!

Disclaimer: No, I don't own them. …yet. 

Dedication: Ooh, fancy. Ahem. 

Stripes has decided to dedicate this chapter to the lovely Star Girl, who goes under many aliases, and if not for her non-stop _NOWNOWNOW_'s, this chapter would not be possible. I think. Anyways, just wanted to tell you that I appreciate the support!! *Hug* ^__________^

Chapter Two: The Mysterious Stranger. 

            Along the southeastern hill that stood unwavering besides Hogwarts, there was a smooth, curving valley, where one might choose to pass through in order to gain access to the main road leading towards the village. 

            It was in this valley that a hooded stranger was currently traveling; his cape billowing ahead of him, reaching for the air that he had not breathed yet, and the cloth was flapping and streaming so horribly that the stranger struggled to hold his trunk and bags firmly; the wind was so strong. 

            The hooded stranger was cloaked in black, so that he blended in perfectly with the shadows of the tall pine trees spread sparsely along the ground, also leaning with the force of the wind, and he stepped so quietly that even the crickets barely noticed his presence, and they continued to chirp. Their songs were lost within the howl of the wind. 

            The only thing that gave away the stranger's solid form was the occasional deep sigh emitted from his lungs, at which time a pure white bird would swoop down and fly alongside him, hooting softly, wings level with the stranger's covered head. 

The stranger's shadow stretched out on the ground before him. The sun was rising… The stranger's grip on his belongings tightened, and he quickened his pace. 

"Not much longer, eh, Hedwig?" He murmured. 

The majestic owl hooted approvingly, and took off with a quick beat of her wings, and rose up to the lightening skies. 

This one had been and exceptionally long journey, the person remembered, and there the entire time was the North Wind, pushing him on, surrounding him. The stranger could barely feel his back; because the wind had blown it so numb. 

But now…

He was almost there. 

The stranger raised his too-tired eyes to the canopy of the trees, eyeing the blue colour that trickled through the dark green. 

The stranger sincerely hoped that this town would turn out better than the last one. His ribs still hurt when he took one too many breaths and there were still some faintly solid marks along his back, where the wooden handle had hit. He gulped. What would Albus think of him now? Whimpering about past things like a sniffling baby. The stranger gave a ragged sigh and winced. He had not yet fully recovered from the heavy blood loss yet, but hopefully he'd be able to make it to the town intact. The North Wind was behind him, after all. 

He trusted the North Wind. When it called to him, it would beckon, and he would follow it like an old friend.

Because, when one got right down to it, there was no one else. 

            "What's been up with this wind, Tom?"

            "Beats me, Stan. It'd be that El Nino comin' round again, I reckon. Whenever funny weather's a happenin', El Nino sure to be the cause of it."

            A low whistle. 

            "Sure glad the streets ain't waterlogged, though, I'll tell ye. It'd make them rocks as slippery as banana peels, I'll tell you what."

            "More tea?"

            "Yeah, sure."

            "So, I heard that—"

            The door flew open, slamming against the stone wall. The wind's wild voice howled through the room. A person, wrapped in a thick cloak, holding bits of luggage stood there, his dark silhouette outlined by the muted morning light. 

            The figure stepped into the room, dumped his belongings to the ground and struggled to push the door close against the relentless wind. 

            The door finally clicked shut as the cloaked man leaned on it, and the cries of the wind died down the silence. The only sounds in the pub were now the heavy breathing of the newcomer. 

            Slowly, he straightened, and pulled off his hood. Emerald green eyes blinked groggily, adjusting to the dim candle light of the room's interior. The young man raised a hand to push his round glasses up, and ran his fingers through a head of messy black hair, attempting feebly to flatten it. Then he smiled, a friendly smile, and spoke. 

             "Good morning, I'm looking for a place to stay," he said softly. He had a gentle voice. 

            Tom, the owner of the Leaky Cauldron, shook his head to revive himself, and adopted a formal tone than regular customers were used to, the one that he saved for business matters. 

            "May I ask what size you'd be preferring, sir?"

            The stranger put a finger to his chin. "Um, well, a fair sized one, I suppose. I want to open a shop on the main floor, see, but I need it to have enough space for sleeping quarters and things upstairs."

            Tom thought for a moment, turning over possible houses in his head. One thing good about being a property manager in a small town was that there were not many places free, so he needn't look them up all the time. 

            "There are a couple suitable options, sir," the landlord murmured, as his inquirer made his was to a stool and sat gratefully on it, "is there a date you'd be needing your room by?"

            "Well, today, if that's possible," was his sheepish answer.

            Tom grinned. There was something distinctly charming about this boy – and he had to be a boy, for he barely looked a day over 18. 

            "No problem, no problem," Tom said. "Are you partial to any area in particular?"

            "Er…I haven't really seen much of the town yet," the boy admitted. "But a place with strong windows and a sturdy door would be nice. And a garden."

            Tom's eyebrows rose. What peculiar requests. He had been referring to areas, like near the river or the forest…but strong windows?

            A sudden thought struck his mind. 

            "Ah! Young lad, I might have just the place for you!"

            The boy's eyes lit with excitement, as the old bus driver beside him clucked softly. 

            "You'd not be thinkin' 'bout Hagrid's old spot, eh Tom?" He asked, draining the last drop of tea in his cup.

            "Aye, that I am, Stan. I think it'd be perfect for our young sir here."

            "Why then, what are we waiting for? May we go see it now?" The boy exclaimed.

            "Now?" Both older men voiced at the same time.

            "Sure! The sooner the better, I think. Unless it's too much trouble. But the wind is about to let up now!" The green eyed youth jumped off his stool gracefully and walked to his bags. He glanced over his shoulder at his bewildered audience. "Is it alright? Can we go?"

            Stan smiled toothily, enjoying the kid's enthusiasm. 

            "Sure, boy! Hop on my bus, I'll drive you there myself!"

            "Now Stan –" 

            "Aw, hush, Tom. I'll be fine. Got no customers right now anyways. You stay here and keep an eye on the Cauldron. We'll come back if young…" Stan looked pointedly at the guest.

            "Oh. Harry. Name's Harry."

            "Right. If Harry wants to sign the papers, we'll come back," and Harry nodded in agreement. "'Sides," Stan joked. "I'm a much better salesman than you ever were."

            Tom snorted, but allowed his old friend's plan to carry forth despite the fact that Stan had retired from their partnership many years ago. 

            Harry waved goodbye as the two of them left the pub. 

            In a good five good minutes of riding Stan's rickety Knight Bus, they arrived at number 11, Gryffindor Square. 

            The building was located in the middle of a large plaza of buildings, with large shrubs of weeds on either side of the house, and smaller, well-kept homes a fair distance away. Down the street, the path opened up to a courtyard, and there was a beautiful fountain built in the centre, its water glistening in the sunshine.

            'Hagrid's old place,' as Stan called it, was of generous proportions. A large set of oak doors was its opening and there was a great bay window, dirty from its lack of cleaning, to their right. It was easily two stories tall, and the roof overextended to the front steps, so someone could stand there comfortably in the rain and stay dry. 

            Stan slipped a key into the heavy padlock and pushed the doors open. Their entrance brought the creaking of floors and they were met with a barrage of dust. The sunlight shone through the spotty glass windows and illuminated the main area, revealing a half empty room with a few odd pieces of furniture lying around and a huge desk across the left side, anchored to the floor. There was a staircase behind a set of doors to the rear of the desk, and a small kitchen and dining room behind another. Harry was overjoyed. This place held lots of promise, he was sure. 

            "It's gorgeous," he told Stan. "It's so roomy and well built! Why would anybody want to move out of here? I'm surprised that no one has bought this place yet, it's been untouched for years!"

            "T'is true, Harry," Stan replied. "It's a great house, and Hagrid loved it. He took good care of it when he resided here, and there used to be many flowers growin' in the garden."

            "Then why did he leave?" Harry ran his fingers along the smooth mahogany desk, causing dust to fly in the air, dancing in the sunlight. 

            "Ah, that's a long story, son," Stan murmured distantly. "Hagrid was a top guy, no doubt about that. He loved them animals and was kind to everyone. But he…oh it's hard to describe…he was a bit – big, I guess, for a regular person."

            "You mean he was fat?"

            Stan laughed. "No! No, Hagrid was just big." At Harry's perplexed look, he explained. "He was nearly as tall as two grown men and three times as wide, I'm sure. A giant, if you will, Harry - though I mean not a speck of offense by it."

            Harry frowned. Stan had to be exaggerating. But then, as he glanced upon the large wooden door the two had pushed open to air out the vicinity, he couldn't be _that_ far off. Harry rather thought he'd like to meet this Hagrid. 

            Stan was still talking, reviving up old history that was rarely ever mentioned in the little town so early in the morning. His eyes held a far away look. "…the mayor didn't like 'im, no sir. Thought Hagrid was a freak and monster, too dangerous for his precious Hogwarts. Now Hagrid never harmed a fly, I say, but the mayor didn't listen to none of that. In church the following Sunday, Father Weasley mentioned of demons walking amongst us, bearing signs of evil, the size of ogres. And, well, after that, the town was so scared that Hagrid had no company t'all, 'cept for me an' Tom."

            Harry ventured up the stairs, leaving his reminiscing companion, but still keeping one ear on Tom's voice. The second floor was a bit smaller than the first, but it had a plush queen-sized bed covered in a white cloth and a nice balcony in the bedroom, and the bathroom was certainly bigger than Harry was used to. There were two smaller rooms too, empty, save for a large sofa and armchair, also adorning white sheets, which Harry assumed that Hagrid couldn't sell when he moved. 

            "…caused a right old fuss, and it was clearly the mayor's fault, in my opinion, but the town was too damned scared to oppose him, is what. Idiots, all of 'em, but don't let the mayor hear about what I'm saying, I haven't thought 'bout all this seriously until now, I'm getting too old, or maybe it's because of that influence of that Miss Granger, nice lass. Oh, where was I? Yes, and to skip all the legal mumbo jumbo that the mayor accused Hagrid of, in the end, the poor bloke got evicted from his house."

            Harry returned to Stan's side. "Hagrid got kicked off his own property?"

            "Aye, sir," Stan said grimly. "We were sorry to see him go, but after the mayor's sting, he couldn't get a decent place anywhere else in town, so he had to pack up and leave. 'Course, then, everyone else was too frightened to live where an 'abominable ogre' used to dwell, so the place has been without human contact ever since. Been close to two decades now, I reckon. Me and Tom sometimes drop by to see how the old place is doin', but it needs an everyday touch, I say." 

            Stan sighed. 

            "So!" He said, brightening up. "How d'ye like it?"

            Harry grinned. "I like it a lot. I don't mind it being Hagrid's place, he seemed a good person."

            Stan's eyes were grave. "Aye, he was, Harry. But Hogwarts isn't run that way, y'see. And I must warn you: if you take this house, people'll be talking, mark my words. You'd be watched. It'd be in your best interest to be careful living here, son."

            Harry looked thoughtful as he surveyed his surrounding once again. "It's fine," he concluded, after a while. "I think I can handle it. I'll take the house."

            Stan's eyebrows shot up. "Well! Eager, aren't we? D'you even know how much a place like this costs, lad?"

            "Well, it can't be that expensive, can it?" Harry said. "It's not been occupied for twenty years and no one has ever wanted to buy it. I think I can afford it."

            Stan nodded approvingly. "You're a bright boy, Harry. Come on then, let's go surprise Tom. He'd lost faith in the place years ago."

            Still chatting amiably, Stan and Harry left Hagrid's old place and closed the doors behind them, leaving the house in its tranquil old silence once more. But somehow, if a villager passing by happened to notice and look inside the dusty interior, shrouded with dark shadows and glistening cobwebs, perhaps they'd notice that the place looked a bit brighter. 

            "Here we are, Harry. Not too long, I would hope." Tom slid a few sheets of tanned paper over the counter, where Harry picked them up and looked them over. 

            As Harry took out a pen and began signing the legal forms, Tom and Stan had a chat about the remarkable weather lately. It had been windy - and at this time of year, too - with hardly a shred of sunlight to be seen through the clouds. Tom's aged back couldn't much more of these unseasoned surprises. This coming afternoon, though, Stan noticed, the skies were clearing up, and through it all, not a speck of moisture! It was a right strange situation, to be sure. The El Nino must be hitting worse than Tom thought. April's always had this sort of wacky weather, Stan mused. Something to do with how the world turns. Surely Tom had some more scones? 

Neither men noticed Harry's secret smile. A few more minutes passed and the boy handed his papers back to the landlord. 

"Oy, all done already Harry? You're a quick lad," Tom took the papers and skimmed it. 

"Harry, you've left an awful lot of stuff blank!" Tom noticed, surprised. "You've got nothing written under 'surname' and nothing t'all about parental guardianship!"

"Oh, well, I don't really know my last name." Harry said. 

"Don't know your last name! By golly," Stan nearly shouted. "Who in the wise world raised ye?"

"Oh, well, I was an orphan, you know, and was adopted by a man named Dumbledore. He was pretty old, to tell the truth, and died when I was thirteen. I've sort of been just traveling the world ever since. He left me a good lot of inheritance money, so I've always thought that I might as well enjoy it."

Stan blinked. The kid just got more interesting by the second.

Tom cleared his throat. "So no last name then? Wouldn't it be Dumdoor—Dundle…" He stopped, looking embarrassed. 

"Dumbledore," Harry reiterated, smiling. "No, the orphanage didn't know my last name and my previous family didn't want me to take theirs, and Albus didn't feel it proper to give me a new name, thought it was unfair to me, so…I guess I've just been Harry my whole life."

"You're mighty independent for an eighteen-year-old," Stan cocked an eyebrow and Harry blushed. 

"Well, traveling isn't at all as easy as I first pictured it to be," he admitted, raising a hand to scratch the back of his head. 

"Ah, that'd be too true, young master," Tom acknowledged. "I remember once, when me and Stan were fifteen, ah…that was a long while ago, I can tell you, well, we were in the mood for some adventuring that summer…"

The story progressed, Stan getting slightly flustered at the memory of his young self taking so many silly risks, and Harry enjoying the tale immensely. 

The three shared lunch, Harry finished with the formalities, gave Tom his first payment, and by mid-afternoon walked out of the Leaky Cauldron with the deed to his new house on Gryffindor Square. 

The sun was shining, and Harry smiled as he realized that the wind had diminished to a gentle breeze. 

Word spread quickly, by teatime nearly half the town had heard that a Stranger, a Young Boy, had purchased Hagrid's old place. 

Lucius Malfoy walked along the paved streets, nodding to passing people and acknowledging quick greetings with those he knew better. 

He had left his elegantly furnished office a bit earlier than usual today. He had heard from his Chief Advisor at lunch that a new villager had arrived overnight, and had purchased the house where the giant used to dwell. Lucius Malfoy was more annoyed by this news that he had let show. He had been hoping to demolish the place, and maybe set up another schoolhouse in its place. Goodness knows that the current one was getting nowhere. 

His lips curled into a smirk as he remembered the spirited eyes of one Miss Hermione Granger as he had once hinted that she might be on the edge of losing her job. 

But that wasn't important right now. 

He wanted to visit the Stranger who had sparked so much controversy in his little town. 

And perhaps, if need be, he'd have to be driven out of it by the week's end. After all, no one lived in Hogwarts without the mayor's approval. 

Harry heard a knock on his door. Visitors already? 

"Come in!" he shouted, hands being occupied with a few chairs he had purchased a few hours ago. 

He put the chairs down and pushed them into a neat line near the wall. Harry heard the clipping tones of leather shoes on his hardwood floor, along with the light tapping of a cane. 

When he straightened, he smiled at his greeter. 

Dressed in an expensive and lavishly bordered suit with a matching cape, the mayor's image was nothing to sneer at. Every orifice on the man seemed to demand your attention and respect, from his silver, silk tie to his long, blonde hair to his white gloved hands, the left one resting on the head of a gleaming, jet black staff. 

"You must be the man I've heard so much about," the mayor drawled slowly. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lucius Malfoy, the mayor of Hogwarts."

Harry extended his hand and the mayor took it. He had a firm grip. This man was not to be taken lightly. 

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Mayor. M'name's Harry, just arrived here early this morning."

"Yes, so I can see," cold eyes flitted up briefly to the mass of untidy hair that rested on Harry's head. Harry repressed the urge to run his hand through it. 

"Tell me, Harry, how long are you expecting to stay here in Hogwarts? Are you hoping to make it your permanent home?" The mayor asked. 

"Ah, well, that's a bit too far off in the future for my thinking," Harry answered. "All I'm looking for is a few months, maybe a year. I like it here, it's pretty. But to say that I'll stay forever? Our young adolescent minds don't take to getting anchored down at places, as I'm sure you know, Mr. Malfoy. I've learned not to have too many expectations at once."

The mayor smirked. "Strong words, Mr. Harry. It is not wise to expect more than can be given. May I offer a bit of advice?"

"By all means."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. If he didn't know better, he'd think that this boy was mocking him. But his face was the picture of innocence. Was he giving this Harry more credit than he deserved?

"Hogwarts is a good town, Harry," the Mayor said. "It has clean air, clean streets, and clean people. I intend to keep it that way. It's much safer for my town if everyone can feel pure and protected. I do not take kindly to things dirtying it up. I can very easily and efficiently get rid of the source, if one can understand my meaning. I'd much rather not have to, you can imagine, but for the sake of the town, troublemakers shall not be tolerated."

Harry smiled. "It's good that I'm not one then."

Lucius smiled back, his lips widening, but the mirth not reaching his expression. "I am glad to hear that…Mr…"

"Just Harry, Mr. Mayor." 

"Alright then, Just Harry. Take my advice to heart, attend church regularly and obey the laws. Follow these rules and I'm sure you'll fit right in here."

Harry's smile faded slightly. "Ah, well, about that…"

Lucius raised a thin eyebrow. "Yes?"

Harry coughed. "I, um, I don't go to church," he mumbled, looking down.

Lucius stood very still for a moment. 

"Ah," he said at last.

 "If you don't think I'm overstepping some boundaries, boy, might I ask what faith you uphold?" The Mayor asked stiffly. 

"Ah, well, I'm not an atheist or nothin', Mr. Mayor," Harry blurted, feeling quite intimidated. "It's just that I've never had the chance to attend a church in my youth, and I've slipped into the habit of sleeping in on Sunday mornings. I don't really believe in a particular God, sir, if you understand, but I'm not at all opposed to the idea of it. I'm just used to being independent, I think. It's spoiled me. There's not really much more to it." 

Lucius Malfoy was intrigued, yet not exactly pleased. What a statement to make! His lips thinned. 

Harry was quick, "I hope that's alright?"

Lucius did not smile this time, and met Harry's green eyes. "Of course, Harry. We accept a diversity of people here. There should be no reason to worry."

Harry looked relieved. 

 "Well, if you'll excuse me, I've got other business to attend to. I'll see you around town, Harry." Lucius opened the door. 

"Oh, yes. Are you sure you don't want to stay for a cup of tea or something?" 

            Lucius spoke with a note of finality. "No, thank you."

            "Ah, too bad. Thanks a lot for dropping by, though. I appreciate it." Harry held the door open and leaned against it. 

            Lucius stepped onto the sidewalk and brushed of his sleeves. "Yes, it wasn't a problem."

            He looked over his shoulder before he took his departure. "Oh, and Harry?"

            "Yes, Mr. Mayor?"

            "You'd better be careful around these parts. I know, as the Mayor, that most people look fine on the outside, but you'd be surprised at how dangerous they can truly be. Don't be a fool, boy. Good evening."

            And with that, he swept off, without awaiting an answer, his cape billowing behind him, his cane tapping forcefully on the stone pavement.

            Harry watched him go, an unreadable expression on his face. His green eyes shone. 

            "Yes, that's good advice, Mr. Malfoy. I'll be sure to remember it," he whispered to himself. 

            Harry went inside and locked the door. 

            Dusk came, and the orange sun sank slowly behind the western hills, in a grand display of orange and red. 

            The wind's song had ebbed off completely now, and the leaves were still. 

            In his new bedroom, Harry blew out the candles and settled down in his freshly washed sheets and closed his eyes, glasses resting on his beside table. His body ached all over and his mind was buzzing with a million thoughts at once. He hadn't gotten a good rest in over a week, and one more minute awake might bring his system into overload. This would be a long, tiring, well-earned sleep for him, and for the first time in a long time, Harry had no nightmares. 


	3. The New Aquaintances

North Wind Rising

**Notes: HAHA! I have returned, better than ever! BWAHAHAHA! Much THANKS to everyone who reviewed!! Here's that new chapter that I've been dallying on! **

            To malu: I appreciate the recommendation! But I'm not making any guarantees, and I never recalled saying that this story was to be H/Hr! *evil laughter* I had never given this couple a thought when I first began this story, but now that you mention it, I've begun to consider some possibilities, and it'd certainly add a kick to what Stripes has got planned! But, yeah, I can see where you're coming from: I did make Herm a main character. Because she is! She's going to be Harry's first friend in Hogwarts!! (Have I said too much? Well, it's all in this chapter, I think! ^^;) 

If you can believe it, I didn't want to end this installment where it is right now, but I felt that without that last part it was a little on the short side, and I really had no place else to put it anyway, so…I stuck it in, and hopefully it won't bug the readers as much as it bugs me. XD

            To ears91, richelle, Riyo, and the maniac (you know who you are!!! XD), much thanks again! Keep it up!! 

            Just a heads-up: there's going to be more cursin' in the next few chapters, so consider yourself warned if you aren't very comfortable with swears. (I hear gasps!) Yes, Stripes has most of chapter 4 written, but I shan't post it until I've got number five down pat, but fear not! It shall not be a very long wait! (I hope!) 

            Anyhoo. Enjoy!! 

            **Disclaimer: Yeah. Alright. I know I don't own it. No doubt you do too. **

Chapter Three: The New Acquaintances

            Harry put the rake down and wiped his brow. 

            Gardening was hard work.

            He walked over to the makeshift table he had constructed out of a large box, by the back door, and poured himself a cup of lemonade. He popped a biscuit into his mouth and surveyed his morning's work. 

            The garden was fine, much better than it had been yesterday, but the soil looked a bit too dry and that maple tree was certainly not growing as well as Harry would've liked. He'd have to give it a good spray later, the bark was too brittle. 

            The hot noon sun beat down on his back as Harry reached down for the rake again and headed towards another shrub of weeds. 

            Back to work, Harry, you have a schedule to keep. 

            Hermione crossed her arms as she walked. What an Awful day it'd been. Awful with a capital A. 

            The children would simply not be quiet; the entire classroom was up to the brim with rumours of the New Stranger in Town. It had been impossible to get them to concentrate on their schoolwork. Of course that Millicent was no help, always acting snooty and starting fights between the richer kids and the poorer. Hermione had had to give up her lunch hour to watch over Christopher and Miguel. And this sparked up even more hyperactivity, so Hermione had ended up assigning bucket loads of homework to make up for the wasted day, and naturally the children would go complain to their parents, and it was her ass on the line again. 

            (Ha! The mayor couldn't scold her for cursing if he didn't know she was doing it!)

            And what ridiculous rumours that were flying about, too! 

            Eyes of glittering jewels indeed. As if anyone could have gemstones for eyeballs. And she was certain that the newcomer wasn't a distant relation of Hagrid's, though she hardly knew anything about him. The King of Thieves? A Tsar of Russia?? The whole town was just a pot steaming with outrageous lies. 

            Miss Granger was not in the best mood. 

            She had woken up late that morning, her hair refused to behave – it chose to frizz up even more than usual – she had forgotten to pack a lunch, not that it mattered anyway, the schoolhouse door was going to fall off its hinges if it was slammed again, and those Creevey brothers would simply not listen to reason!

            _Spy on the Stranger? How ludicrous! The boys were already in enough trouble as it was to try and publish an article in the town newspaper about a complicated theory involving homework and spinach. _

            Hermione kicked a large stone hard with the tip of her boot and watched it fly over a fence. 

            "Ow!"

            "Oh my goodness!" Hermione rushed over to the sound of dismay and found a young man kneeling in the dirt, one hand holding a trowel and the other rubbing the back of his head.

            "Oh! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to – I didn't know you where down there, I couldn't see you!" Hermione's string of apologies was interrupted.

            "It's quite alright, miss," the man said as he stood, "just gave me a jolt, that's all." He smiled at her. 

            Hermione suppressed a squeak that bubbled up on her throat. 

            _This was the Stranger? He certainly was nothing she had been not-really-but-unintentionally-expecting. His eyes weren't made of gems, but they were damn well a good second best. They shone like two studded emeralds, outlined by thick black lashes that matched his messy hair. The glasses perched on his nose must be magnifying the colour, because no one could have irises with vibrancy like those ones. _

            "Miss?"

            Hermione blushed. She hadn't realized that she'd been staring. 

            "Sorry, I drifted off. Had a very tiring day," she said. 

            The Stranger shot her a sympathetic look as he took in the dark rings around her eyes and her hurriedly-brushed hair. "Say no more," he exclaimed. He held up a finger. "Stay right there. I've got just what you need." And dashed off into his house. 

            Hermione was intrigued. What an odd person. Energetic and friendly were her first impressions, which was a plus. And he seemed to be doing a good job on the backyard too.

She didn't have tome to continue her thoughts as the Stranger suddenly reappeared. He crossed the grass and handed her a cookie wrapped in a napkin and three daisies tied with a yellow ribbon. 

Hermione stared. 

"Go on, take them," the Stranger urged. "They'll make you feel better, I promise."

Hermione couldn't resist. She reached out and accepted her gifts, but had no clue what she did to receive them.

"Thank you, but I really don't deserve this…I kicked a stone at your head, after all," she said, feeling a slight bit awkward. 

"Don't worry about it. It was no trouble. I'm glad to be of help; you've had an exhausting day, from what I see."

Hermione nodded.

The stranger smiled. "The name's Harry."

Hermione bit into her cookie, and couldn't help but grin back. She was feeling better already. "Hermione Granger."

Harry put the vase down and slumped into a nearby chair. 

"Whoo…tiring."

Hermione sighed into her teacup from beside him. 

"I know what you mean. Moving in is no easy job. I'm surprised that you've done so much so quickly without anybody's help."

Harry smiled. "I've had the experience, I suppose."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, but didn't bother to question further when Harry did not elaborate.

The two friends looked around at Harry's newly renovated store. 

It had taken them the better part of the weekend, but they had managed to get the basic units down and firm, some decorations up, and gotten all of the old appliances working again. 

All that was left to do was to fill up the store with cookies and cakes and flowers and paintings on the wall. 

Really, the whole thing was working remarkably well. 

When Hermione had first volunteered to help her new friend set up his house, she thought all she'd had to do was put this chair in that corner; put that lamp on this table, and so on and so forth. 

Harry had already managed most of those dull and back breaking tasks, and so Hermione instead found herself involved in activities involving rags, sponges, mops, and the occasional paintbrush.

            It really was worth it. Despite all the blisters and headaches and dropped furniture, the room did have a very appealing quality to it. Once Harry started stocking up his supplies and had the room feeling used again (as it hadn't been, in more than a while), she doubted that a single person would be able to resist the _Now Open sign that would be put up on the bay windows in a few weeks. _

             She really couldn't wait until Ron got home. 

            Helpless schoolmistress indeed, Hermione scoffed. She showed him. 

            "Here."

            Hermione started at the steaming cup of golden brown liquid that was suddenly placed in her hands. The rich smell rose slowly in the air, wafting its aroma all around her, and Hermione took a deep whiff, and sighed.

            "Ooh, hot chocolate…"

            Harry smiled. "I thought you'd like it. I added a bit of coffee too, just to perk you up."

            Hermione took a sip and let the sweet taste warm her tongue. 

            "Harry, you are a saint."

            Harry grinned jokingly. "I'm glad you've finally realized; it took you long enough."

            Hermione dumped her books onto Harry's counter and grabbed a chocolate biscuit. It took her three seconds to snarf it down. 

            "Hungry much?" Harry's soothing voice drifted from the kitchen. 

            "Ergh, I had to skip lunch, the Creevey boys got another set of detentions. I swear, they are the most mischievous little horrors ever to grace the Earth." Hermione snapped, taking another two cookies. 

            "Then by all means, help yourself," Harry laughed, knowing full well that the dish was already empty. 

            When he entered his sitting room, Hermione had already spread out three textbooks and was scribbling furiously onto a set of papers with red ink. 

            "You should use green." Harry remarked over her shoulder. 

            Hermione's hand paused. "I beg your pardon?"

            Harry slung his rag over his shoulder and replaced the crumb-less plate on his counter with one filled with éclairs. 

            "I said why don't you use green ink? It's a lot more soothing on the nerves, and I'm sure no student appreciates getting a test back with angry red marks all over their hard work." He raised an eyebrow. 

            The school teacher flushed. 

            "Well, that's an idea, I suppose," she admitted.

            "Yes, I like to think so. I'm sure even purple or blue ink would help relieve stressed minds of children, not to mention yours."

            Hermione made a note on the edge of a scrap piece of paper, and asked Harry something that had been on her mind for a while. 

            "So, have you decided on a name yet?"

            "On the shop? As a matter of fact," Harry produced a large slab of polished wood lying next to the wall and flipped it over, "I have."

            On it, _The Phoenix Feather was gracefully carved out of the grain, with swirling curlicues framing all around, and a single golden feather painted on the right side. The overall effect was very pleasing, and the shining yellow of the feather make the darkened font stand out bolder. _

            "It's gorgeous, Harry!"

            Harry shrugged. "It's not bad."

            Hermione's eyes shone as she took in the sign. It was so artistically fashioned…it seemed like something right out of a fairy tale book. But what a cheesy name!

            She said as much. "What a cheesy name, Harry! The sign is lovely, but _The Phoenix Feather?" _

            Harry's éclair was halfway in his mouth. "Call me a sucker for the arts then."

            "What put this title into you head?"

            "I dunno…" Harry murmured, licking his fingers. "Just an old childhood memory, I suppose."

            ~

            _"Harry, what are you doing?"_

_            "Flying!"_

_            "You are standing quite firmly on the ground, Harry. Both feet, I see."_

_            "Well, I can pretend, can't I?"_

_            A chuckle. _

_            "Come over here, Harry. And bring your feather with you." _

_            Harry caught his blue jay feather from the air and toddled over to Albus as quickly as his little feet could._

_            Albus lifted the child and placed him on his lap. _

_            "Look, Albus, it's a blue feather! I found it this morning! It can fly!"_

_            Albus Dumbledore plucked the offered object from the grasp of six-year-old hands. _

_            "Can people fly, Albus?" Little Harry asked, green eyes opening wide. _

_            Albus Dumbledore sighed, and stroked his white beard. _

_            "Well, yes and no, Harry," he said finally. _

_            "Oh, I see," Harry replied, not at all doing so. _

_            His guardian laughed. "Tell me, Harry, do you believe in Phoenixes?"_

_            Harry scrunched up his nose. "No, I saw one once in Dudley's fairy tale book and I asked Aunt Petunia why the bird was on fire and she said it was a phoenix and never to mention this again because no such bird existed, then Uncle Vernon threw me into my cupboard for saying in-ina-inpro'piate things."_

_            "Ah."_

_            "Don't you get it Albus?" Harry scolded, wagging his finger at twinkling blue eyes. "Phoenixeses are magic stuff and there's no such thing as magic."_

_            "No such thing as magic?" Albus peered over his funny-shaped glasses. "Why, everything in the world is magic!"_

_            "Naw," Harry said, fiddling with his buttons. "I'd have noticed by now, if it were real, I'm over six whole years old! Not much gets by me these days!"_

_            Albus Dumbledore ruffled Harry's mop of hair affectionately. _

_            "Harry, if you don't believe in magic, then how are you ever going to experience it?"_

_            "Oh yeah? If magic's so real, why don't you prove it?"_

_            The challenge acknowledged._

_            "Alright," Albus said, "I will."_

_            He blew Harry's blue jay feather—white at the tip, dark at the edges—up in the air, and waved his hand around it, causing it to twirl…_

_            It begun at the roots. A ever-so-slight change in colour, so little that you were sure it was just a trick of the sunlight, then the intensity would creep out, slowly enveloping the blue; the more yellow that seeped in, the longer the feather seemed to stretch, and the bigger Harry's eyes got, until he could open them no more so he dropped his jaw instead; and when the feather drifted down – down, landing softly in Harry's outstretched hand, all the old blue was gone, instead  it was a larger, lighter feather, that was shining gold and sparkled a warm red hue. _

_            "Wow," Harry breathed._

_            Albus was silent, but his eyes were shining merrily. _

_            "That, Harry," he murmured to the young boy, "is magic." He pointed to the feather, still light as air at Harry's fingertips. "And that, is a __Phoenix_ feather."            __

_            ~_

            Harry sighed. His eyes were glazed over and a whimsical smile played his lips. 

            Hermione gave him the most curious look. 

            Draco paused as his right foot landed on the cobblestones.

            Should he? 

            Would it be worth the trouble?

            Draco looked at his gold watch and tapped his foot, all the body signals a person would be making if they were waiting for someone. Draco was good at acting.

            People passed him by on the street, not really noticing him, and if they did they were wise to keep their distance, because the scowl on the blonde's face seemed very real. And it was best not to mess with the Mayor's Son. 

            Ah, but the scowl on Draco Malfoy's face _was_, in fact, real. He was not in a good mood, this young man, because the fact was that he had been itching all day. There was one major thing wrong with that statement: Malfoys do not itch. The second: suppose under the circumstances there was a legitimate itch for a Malfoy to have, under no influence was he (or she) to scratch it. In public. 

            The worst part was it wasn't one of those simple physical itches too, where a few good swipes with nails would cure you of the ailment; this was a nagging itch, festering away at the back of Draco's mind, annoying him, taunting him, _begging him to relieve it. _

            He was, he has realized to his disgust a while ago, _curious_. 

            Bah. Curiosity was not something that became a Malfoy. 

            Draco Malfoy was curious, and the curiosity was eating him alive. 

            As a young child Draco had never wondered about things; they were usually just presented to him. This happened because of this, which happened due to that, and money controlled the world, and Daddy controlled money. 

            If he ever did perchance want an answer, his father would tell him the exact answer, not more, not less. And as Draco grew older he learned of more and more things from his books and about how useless and stupid it is to ask about things if you knew they were not relevant, and if you just were patient, every would clear itself in the end. 

            Naturally, being raised to be generally uninterested in everything brought Draco great hardship now, when all of the sudden he _did_ find himself curious, and his father had just recently told him that the things he wanted to know affected him in no way whatsoever, and therefore Draco had no need to ask further.  

            He wanted to rip out all the questions and wonderings he felt inside his head, drag his fingers through them, and chuck them away to rot so they'd never bother the Mayor's Son again and life would go back to normal. 

            But – 

            _I wonder how old he is._

_            Does he have white hair?_

_            Is he fat?_

_            Is he shrewd?_

_            Would he be easy to walk over?_

_            Is he a she?_

_            What is he selling?_

_            Why did he come to Hogwarts?_

            And the list went on.

            Draco sniffed haughtily and decided to take the risk. So what if he was curious, and achingly so, to know more about the Stranger that had recently arrived into _his town and set up a foreign shop? Draco Malfoy couldn't care less if he found out. He wouldn't care less. _

            So why was it that his feet were propelling him forward at a brisk speed, and stopping right under a rickety old building with giant wooden doors? 

            _Look up, idiot._

            Draco looked up.

_The Phoenix Feather, eh?_

And what have we here? Flowers, chocolates, biscuits, colourful wrappings in the display window. It did smell rather good. 

            In fact…maybe…

            Well, the negative was that it had already been infected with Granger germs. That ticked him off more due to the fact that the school teacher had actually been in the shop than due to Draco being too good to socialize with the general working population of Hogwarts. 

Draco debated whether to go in the new shop or not. On one hand, his father would be really angry with him, he'd never be able to leave then house again, and perhaps some money would be cut off his account. Damn. On the plus side, Draco would get something to eat. And chocolate was good. 

            Was it worth it?

            The shop was pulsing with mystery, Draco mused. It was oozing with all the things in life that Draco had been brought up to disregard, like the feeling of a sweet candy on your parched tongue, and the comfort of old friends who'd recognize your footfalls, and the simple joys of being welcomed into a place without people whispering behind your back about why you were there. The shop in front of him promised all that, and more. Draco could tell. He was practically hypnotized by the aroma of chocolates already. 

            If Draco squinted his eyes a bit more, he could see the inside of the store, of its wooden colour, and the various colourful things that hung on the walks and adorned the countertops, too fuzzily displayed through the glass for a viewer to see what they were. You'd have to go in to see what they were.  

            Draco Malfoy wanted to go into the shop. Father never let him do anything these days. It was either study this or study that, or learn from this or disapprove of that – be a proper Malfoy, Draco, so you can make your family proud. 

            Draco was tired of it all. He wanted a change. A different perspective to view the world from. And the first step? He wanted to visit this shop that didn't have its door locked, with the smell of sweets and beckoning perfume, with that air of melancholy that practically screamed "Come inside! You need to see what mysteries await you! Open the door!!"

            But Draco could not. Not yet. 

            He was a Malfoy. 

            Malfoys were brought up, as his father had told him many times throughout the course of his life, Malfoys were brought up the best way that anyone on Earth could possibly wish to be brought up, with wealth and power and brains and an attractive appearance, and they learnt of dignity, and influence, and getting ahead in life, but most of all: control!

            Malfoys do not give into temptation. Temptation leads to weakness which results in emotions which creates mistakes which will bring about failure and humiliation.

Those were two words you'd never, _ever use to describe Draco Malfoy._

            Inside, green eyes narrowed slightly as they watched the head of perfect blonde hair shake ever so slowly, and bob slowly away from view and down the street. It had been the third time this week. 

            Harry wondered why his visitor, the one with the longing, caged look in his eyes, the one who looked like the Mayor of Hogwarts, Diagon, why he would always stand by the door, lift his fingers to touch the handle, but never push it open. Harry didn't lock his doors during the day…

            Was he waiting for the store to open?  

            He was almost finished, as it was. The flowers were blooming beautifully; his oven was working fine, and most everything was clean enough to eat off of. But Harry had noticed the boy outside watching Hermione once, when she bustled into his store, and he saw the blonde freeze in his tracks, and he saw the look of jealousy that flitted over his face for only an instant before it was gone again. 

            But no matter. Harry has things to do. Less than a week to go and the Phoenix Feather would be ready. 

_"Look, look! There he is!"_

_"Oh no—"_

_"Is it him? Can you see his eyes?"_

_"It is! Quick! Grab him!!"_

_"Aug – no, wait – stop! Hey!! No!!" _

_"Shut up, you monst—"_

_"I'M NOT A MONSTER!!"_

_"LOOK! What did I tell you? I told you, and no one believed me at first! But see! I was right!!"_

_"Oh dear God…"_

_"They're…his eyes…"_

_"NO! Let me go!! LET GO!!"_

_"Hold still, boy, you're only hurting yourself further."_

_"NO!! STOP IT! IT BURNS!!" _

_            --_

_And the flames were so hot; he couldn't even feel himself bleeding. He couldn't hear himself screaming, and the boards – thick wood – slamming down and down and – ohGodpleasestopit – his ribs were broken, and his mouth was raw and – it hurts it hurts it hurts stop stop stop – and the voices: cruel and taunting – why were they laughing? Couldn't they see he was hurting? STOPSTOPSTOP!! IT HURTS!!_

_            --_

_Sneering, "You're a freak" –_

_Jeering, "Get out of our town," –_

_Yelling, "You're the spawn of Satan himself!"_

_- NO HE WASN'T -_

_"Don't deny it! We've seen you do your tricks!! Keep that sort of witchery off of our land, you got that?" –_

_"Please, someone, kill him now, I can't stand to look at him further!" – _

_And oh God, he heard the children crying…_

_Don't cry, oh please…_

_PLEASE, don't do that – stop – please –_

_Harry screwed his eyes shut against the pain. _

_            --_

_"What? What's – happening? AUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGHH!!!"_

_"Don't – run!! Now!!  AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEHHHHHHHH!!!" _

_And a thousand of their voices, built up in their crescendo, their echoes rising up towards the heavens._

_--_

The screams jolted Harry awake. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. 

Harry gasped and choked, sitting up – take a deep breath – look, you're safe, you're fine – it's alright – JUST – calm down – JUST CALM DOWN!!

He stared at the clock hanging on the way, its small pendulum waving back and forth, back and forth; Harry ran a hand through his hair, and it came back damp with sweat. 

From fear.

Harry closed his eyes and tried to slow down his pulse. 

It was so real…

DON'T cry…

Tick. Tick. Tick. The clock's constant rhythm told Harry that his heart was thumping very quickly and very irregularly. 

Harry let out a long breath. He hadn't had a nightmare like that in a long time. His mind was still reeling…

He laid himself slowly back down, and buried his face in his pillows. Go to sleep, go to sleep, you've got a big day ahead of you tomorrow. Hermione is coming over, and she is going to help put the flowers into pots, and it'd be alright, because tomorrow is going to be sunny and a great day. 

Harry shut his eyes, and hummed a quiet lullaby to himself. His voice was scratchy – had he been screaming? 

He stayed awake the rest of the night. 

---------

Review please!! 


	4. The Possible Threats

North Wind Rising ~

Notes: Ha hah…lookit this, Stripes finally got off her lazy ass to write some more! Cue the fanfare! Right about now, I've got many piles of unfinished and untouched homework in my room, building up with every second I ignore them, and when I finally get around to looking at it, the pile will fall down and bury me alive. So what do I decide to do? Post! Yay. XP Ok, in this chapter, I am NOT bashing Lily! I don't hate her at all! It's all party of the story, pets, and hopefully I know what I'm doing. And other than that, no warnings, except maybe watch out for language (though it's not strong). 

And actually, if you look closely, you'll find that Stripes knows NOTHING whatever about flowers and soil and planting…I'm just spouting steam, people. Don't take me seriously. Any sort of advice is welcome, though, so feel free to nag. And yes, people, I am aware that plants can't pop up in a week or whatever time frame it might be, and it is VERY unrealistic, but poor Harry needs to open his shop, so let's just pretend that his flowers grow really fast, please? 

Reviews: Many thanks to all! Crazy Pear, you need to up your medication. XD. I'm just kidding…sorta. Riyo, warbl365, malu, ears91, Kar'Nia, you people are feeding a monster. Yay!! 

Enjoy! AND REVIEW! Gar!!

Disclaimer: Nope. Yes. You all know it by heart. 

Chapter 4: The Possible Threats

            Harry hung his wooden sign over the door, climbed down his stepladder, and took a deep breath. He dusted the dust of his hands and walked back into his store, smiling. 

            The Phoenix Feather was officially open for business. 

"Hermione! 'Mione!!"

Hermione Granger turned around and was barraged suddenly with a solid force of familiar warmth. 

            "Ron!" She squeaked into his chest, quite breathless from the shock. 

            His arms tightened around her in greeting. 

            "How's it been? I've missed ye, Mione!"

            She laughed, feeling quite giddy. Ron was back!

            "What – what are you doing here? You weren't supposed to return until the end of the week!"

            Hermione felt Ron shrug. 

            "Wanted to give ye a surprise. Did it work?"

            Hermione pulled back and linked their fingers together, while Ron grinned. He was a bit more tanned, the brunette noticed, definitely more freckles, perhaps a little taller, too, but she might be getting a bit carried away – and he still had the same blue eyes and nose and mouth, good, and that head of bright hair, it grew a bit, but Hermione didn't mind. He was still Ron, just the way she liked him. 

            Hermione nodded. "It did! I see you've picked up a bit of an accent!"

            The redhead wrapped his arm around her shoulders. 

            "Well, being in Romania for a month doesn't account for nothin' y'know! I've gotta take you there one day, 'Mione, you'd love it! The scenery is gorgeous, and the sights! All this history behind the architecture, too. I know how you love that stuff…"

            As Ron prattled excitedly on, Hermione leaned up and gave him a peck on the cheek. The chatter dried up immediately, and Ron flushed. 

            Hermione smiled. "I've missed you, too." And then she laughed, pulling at her boyfriend's arm.

            "Come on! You can tell me all about your adventures at the newest café in town! I've been busy the last few weeks as well! I can't wait to show you, I've got a new friend…" 

            "Hello?"

            "Hey! Have you heard the news?!" 

            "What? That Alexandra Phinnel ran off and eloped with her fat, balding Latin tutor?"

            "No! That's sick! I meant about the new shop!"

            "New shop? Can't say I have."

            "No? It's been the top news of the town for almost a month now! There's a new shop and café type thing down on Gryffindor Square, and apparently the owner's a kid, barely even twenty years old!"

            "They're just rumours, you know. Why would a perfectly healthy teenage boy come to Hogwarts to open up a shop, for goodness sake? Do you know even what kind of merchandise he's selling?"

            "Not a clue. I haven't been out lately, but I've heard that all the town idiots are getting all excited about it: there're these odd smells that are floating around the street, coming from the new shop!"

            "Aromas? Odd? What do they smell like?"

            "How am I to know? I told you, I haven't a chance to check it out yet. Wanna come with me tomorrow?"

            "What, too afraid to go by yourself?"

            "Hell no!"

            "I fail to see why my appearance will help matters any, not that there's a problem in the first place."

            "Come on, you owe me! You're always cooped up in that lonely, evil castle of yours and you never come down to the village anymore! How am I going to attract attention if there's nothing to attract it with?"

            "I can't believe you just said that! First, I owe you _nothing. If anything, _you_ owe _me_." _

            "What?? The frog incident had nothing to do with me, I swear, it was already –"

            "Second, I live in a cottage. Third, you know I'm not welcome at all in Hogwarts, and lastly, I'm certain that you could find a way to create some sort of mess and attract a whole mess of paparazzi to stare at you and your exploits."

            "Yeah? But I need a partner in crime!"

            "Ha! Sirius Black, asking for help? I'm struck."

            "Moony, please? What if this guy turns out to be a stalker and becomes obsessed with me? I'll need you as a witness!"

            "Your imagination astounds me, as always."

            "_Please?"_

            "…"

            "Moony!"

            "Alright, alright! I'll come over tomorrow at lunch."

            "Great! Can you bring your hunting rifle with you?"

            "No, Sirius."

            "Your crossbow?"

            "No, Sirius."

            "Your mousetraps, then!"

            "_Padfoot…"_

            "Fine! Be that way!"

            "I'll see you tomorrow, Padfoot."

            "Here we are!" 

            "This is it?"

            Hermione grinned proudly. "Yup! The Phoenix Feather! Actually, you couldn't have come at a better time, I was just about to come for lunch, Harry just opened the shop a few hours ago."

            She led him around the side of the store, over to the backyard and pointed out to patches of dirt, with many green sprouts distributed throughout. "Harry already picked clean the first garden, so this is set number two. Look, I planted marigolds there, morning glories there, crocuses there," the list went on.

            Ron rolled his eyes, cutting her off. "Hey, 'Mione, not to burst your bubble or anything, but I don't think you can grow crocuses with marigolds; crocuses are mainly wild flowers. You've just used regular soil!"

            Hermione sniffed. "Shows what you know. You'll see them bloom by next week, you watch. And Harry told me he put in some special fertilizer in the earth, and it helps the plants grow faster and healthier."

            "Someone mentioned my name?"

            Hermione twirled around. "Oh! Harry! Congratulations on opening your shop! Have you gotten any customers yet?"

            Harry gave her a friendly hug. "Not yet, no. But I've only been in business for what, three hours?" He looked over to the other man, standing sort of awkwardly away from them. Harry smiled. "Hello, who's this?"

            Hermione reached out and took Ron's wrist. "Harry, I'd like you to meet my boyfriend, Ron Weasley. Ron, this is Harry." 

            Ron shook Harry's outstretched hand. "Pleased to meet ye, mate."

            "Likewise. Hermione's told me a lot about you."

            "Oh? Any bad things?"

            Hermione swatted his arm. "Ron! Accusing _me_, of gossiping?"  

            Harry laughed. "Come on in, I'll brew a pot of tea."

            Hermione brightened. "Yes! I'll show you the neat job I did arranging Harry's cookware set. We had a problem at first, because he had these huge pots and pans for who knows what and the cupboards were in these inconvenient places, so I thought that it'd be helpful if…"

            Harry opened the back door and ushered his first two customers inside.

            "So, Harry, how did you get to meet Hermione?"

            Ron bit into a cookie and looked at his companion, eyebrows raised. Hermione had left them briefly to pick up some papers she left in the schoolhouse the day before, and Ron was hoping to use this time to get to know Harry, and his intentions, a little better.

            Harry shrugged. "Well, she kicked a rock at my head."

            Ron choked. "What?"

            Harry smiled and told of the day, many weeks ago, when he had met his first friend in Hogwarts while weeding his garden.

            After he was finished, Ron let out a whistle. "Interesting way to meet, if I ever saw one." 

            Harry nodded. "Ah, well, I've had worse."

            "Oh yeah? Where're ye from?"

            "Everywhere, I guess," Harry said casually. "I travel a lot, and I've been pretty much everywhere."

            "Sounds like a sweet life."

            "Yeah, well, living in Little Whinging for a couple of years put all thoughts of setting up a permanent home out of my head."

            "Was it that bad a neighbourhood?"

            "Yeah. And the orphanage itself wasn't top notch either."

            Ron's eyes widened. "Oh, man, I'm sorry."

            Harry smiled grimly. "Don't be. There's no point."

            "Right," the redhead flushed and tried to move onto more pleasant matters. "You much of a sports player at all?" 

            Harry laughed. "I'm not a big fan, but I'm fairly adequate in everything. Not professional level, of course, but I'm sure you could get a good game from me."

            "Good game, eh?" Ron grinned. "What's about chess?"

            Harry paused. Chess was an interesting game. He didn't mind it at all, but the given silence made him nervous. Sometimes if he was very concentrated on the game, he wouldn't pay enough attention to his mind, and certain words might be let out that were not supposed to…Harry had bad experiences with mistakes like that. But Ron was looking at him hopefully, and Harry could just tell that the other was a brilliant player. 

            "I like chess," Harry said. He'd just have to remember to watch what he said when playing. It couldn't be that hard. And besides, making new friends in new towns was important, and to make new friends you have to share common interests. How many times had he recited this to himself now? 

            Ron's eyes lit up, much like Harry had expected. "Great! I should bring my chessboard around sometime; we can play a few games! About time, I never get any decent competition around here!" 

            Harry smiled, albeit not whole-heartedly. Was getting too involved with Ron a mistake? Harry shrugged it off as paranoia. Ron was really a nice guy. 

            So the two talked pleasantly, with frequent snack breaks, until Hermione returned with a bundle of folders cradled in her arms. 

            "Sorry, Harry," she rushed out, trying to organize her stack on the table. "I've got more work that I had thought. I have to leave early today, but I'll come visit tomorrow, alright?" 

            Harry waved dismissively. "Yes, yes, go on. Baby Harry knows how to take care of himself."

            "So, what do you think?"

            "It's a nice place," Ron answered truthfully. He was walking Hermione home, just like he used to do everyday. The comfort of going back to this routine slid over him like a hot chocolate on a cold winter day. 

            "And…what about Harry?" Hermione chewed her lip thoughtfully. She had been afraid, at first, that Ron might be jealous of her new friendship. It wasn't like him to be out-of-control envious, but just peeved enough for her to feel guilty. 

            "I like him, he's a nice bloke," Ron grinned. He wasn't sure at first what to make of Harry, but after talking to him, he seemed kind enough, and not at all interested in stealing his girlfriend. And now, even better! He had new competition for chess. 

            Hermione sighed in relief. "Good, that's good to hear. Harry's a dear, you'll see, and he gives me free cookies! I'm sure you two will hit it right off!" 

            She went on about the types of flowers Harry was growing, and the business plan that she drew up for him, which Ron had no doubt was lying forgotten in a drawer somewhere, and the two walked on, hand in hand, to Hermione's apartment. Ron had thought it curious, at the time, the way that Harry avoided the subject of his family when Ron had brought up his, but it didn't seem to matter so much now. Maybe Harry was just one of those shy people – oh that's right. He was an orphan. That was a bit of a downer. Ron wondered if Herm knew…but she usually was aware of everything, so he supposed… 

            That's okay. It didn't really matter. Hermione leaned up to kiss him, and Ron promptly forgot all about Harry. 

            "Ah! There it is!"

            "This is it?"

            "Yeah, and looks like the guy has done a good job tidying the place up!"

            "You know, I've always wondered, why have you never bought this place? It's not like you couldn't afford it. You're not a Scrooge."

            "No, but I'm lazy."

            "How silly of me to forget."

            Sirius walked up to the front doors of the new store and pushed them open. Remus followed, looking up as he heard the gentle tingling of a little silver bell notifying their presence.

            "Just a sec!" A muffled yell came from a room to their left, and Remus brushed past Sirius to get a better look around him. He wandered around quietly, taking in the sights of the many odd objects placed upon various bookshelves, the scent of the seemingly hundreds of plants growing in their pots, and the sound of a pair of feet crossing the floor.

            "Hey, what can I do for you?"

            Remus fingered the petals of a bright fuchsia orchid, looking up when he heard no audible answer from Sirius. 

            He froze when he saw the owner of the store, and found he wasn't capable of uttering a word either. 

            Oh. Lord. 

            The same hair, the same jaw, the same nose, the same stature too! But it _couldn't be! Remus was sure he was hallucinating, it wasn't – no way – it couldn't be –_

            Beside him, Remus barely acknowledged Sirius' dry choke. 

            The shopkeeper's green eyes – those _eyes_ – darted back and forth between the two men. 

            "Er, is there a problem?" 

            Sirius choked again. 

            "James?" He whispered tersely.

            Remus felt tears pricking at the back of his eyes.

            "_James?" Sirius repeated, more forcefully. _

            The shopkeeper looked at them like they were crazy. 

            Remus took a difficult step, still not quite believing his eyes, and watched as the other took a step back. 

            "Hey, now, wait. I don't want any trouble. If you were sent here by someone to get me, I think it'd be best if you leave --"

            Remus could see the sudden suspicion in the boy's eyes. He could _smell his fear._

            Remus' eyes ran across a lightening bolt shaped scar, marring the boy's pale forehead, half covered by that mop of James' hair. What was this – this boy wasn't – he _wasn't?  And Remus could now immediately tell – he noticed how differently the boy stood, the strange shape of his eyes, the not-James air of how he spoke…_

            Remus stiffened. "You aren't James."

            The shopkeeper seemed relieved, but only slightly. 

            "No, I don't know who James is. I'm Harry."

            There was a heavy thump on the wooden floor as Sirius Black fainted. 

            "I'm really sorry about this; it's just that he's had such a nasty shock. You really do look like an old childhood friend of ours, though," Remus explained hastily, as he tucked a pillow under Sirius' head.

            Harry covered the unconscious man with a thin blanket and put a glass of water on the bedside table. 

            "It's no problem at all. I'm pretty sure he'll be fine, but in the meantime, why don't I fix you a cup of something?"

            Remus thanked him, apologized again, gave Sirius' still form one last glance, and headed down the stairs after Harry.

            "So you two live around here?" Harry had asked, once they sat down and were sipping on their drinks. 

            "I suppose," Remus started, "I live near the Forbidden Forest, and Sirius has this huge mansion north of this town. We're not really citizens of Hogwarts; though we do think ourselves to part of this town."

            "Forbidden Forest, eh? I've heard of it. Sounds really spooky."

            Remus nodded grimly. "You've no idea."

            "Oh yeah? Try me."

            "Do you believe in fairy tales?"

            The youth appeared to be thinking it over. 

            "That depends on which ones, I suppose."

            Remus smiled. "What if I told you 'all of them'?" 

            Harry smirked. "Then I'd have to see it with my own eyes." 

            Remus laughed. 

            After the shopkeeper had poured out the tea, Remus found himself sitting at a nice wooden table with plush red chairs to accompany it. He loved this shop already. 

            "So, tell me, Harry, what exactly do you sell here?"

            "Can't you tell?" His green eyes twinkled at him, and Remus couldn't help but feel a surge of remembrance he hadn't felt in a long time. 

            "If I had to guess, I'd have to say…flowers?"

            "Yep. And I'm moonlighting as a waiter, too."

            Remus stiffened unconsciously, and then relaxed when he realized Harry was just joking. 

            "Then I insist I pay for this tea," Remus hastily said.

            Harry held up a hand. "Think nothing of it. It's on the house."

            "Don't be silly, I insist." He took a few coins out of his pocket, and handed them over to a reluctant florist. 

            "Sir, it's really not a problem, you know," the boy said, looking at the coins in his palm strangely.

            "You mean Sirius? No, he'll come around soon enough, I expect."

            Harry didn't really mean that at all. He took in the other's shabby clothes in warily. 

            "Look, Harry - can I call you Harry?" The other nodded before Remus had a chance to realize that he didn't know what to call him _except Harry, "you want to make a living, don't you? You're a young lad! Stores need to make money!" _

            Before Harry could answer, a loud yell came from upstairs, and in an instant both men were on their feet.

            "REMUS!" 

            Remus dashed upstairs, Harry right behind him. 

            Sirius was tearing through the upstairs rooms, sticking his head into every nook and cranny, and it wasn't until after Remus stood in front of him yelling, "I'm here, I'm here, I'm not dead yet!" that he shut his mouth and stilled. 

            "Oh, there you are."

            Remus sighed. "Yes, we were right downstairs! You needn't have made such a ruckus!"

            "Well I thought that you'd been dragged off somewhere! How do we know that shopkeeper isn't a –" Sirius stopped. And looked ready to faint again. "That kid! The one that looks like James! Where is he?!"

            "I'm right here," Harry said smoothly, leaning against the wall. 

            "You!" Sirius growled out, swiftly grabbing onto his collar, lifting Harry to the tips of his toes. The sudden bout of energy was unnerving, and Harry gulped. 

            "Who are your parents?!" The taller man demanded, squinting at his captive. 

            "What?!" Harry nearly shouted. "What does that have to do with anything? Put me down!" He pushed against Sirius' hands, and felt himself drop back to his feet.

            But the black-haired stranger didn't let up his grip round Harry's neck. "Don't mess with me boy, you don't know who you're dealing with. I asked you_: who are your parents?" _

            Harry jerked his rumpled shirt back down his stomach. "No affair of yours. Get bent."

            "What – you!"

            "If you wanted to know something, the least you could've done is ask me nicely. I lent my bed to you, after all," Harry bit out, pulled his collar out of the other's hand, and turned his back, heading back downstairs.

            Remus was at his side in a blink. "No! Harry! Sirius doesn't mean any harm! He was just taken aback, and when he's caught off guard he tends to overreact and bit, and really, you do look uncannily like this person we knew, that we lost contact with a long time ago…" His voice faded into first floor of the house.

            Sirius was left alone. He stood, immobile, for a very long time, then took a leveling breath and dropped to the floor. 

            "That – that kid," he gasped, running a shaking hand through his long hair, "he's… he has to be!" But his mind screamed at him. _He's not! You know he's not!_

            He could be…the resemblance…

            James isn't coming back, Sirius. Get a hold of yourself. 

            That boy wasn't James. And James isn't coming back. 

            ~

_"You're really leaving??"_

_            A twenty-one year old Sirius stood frozen in the doorway, looking desperately at his best friend, and the suitcase the other held in his hand._

_            James nodded, looking out the window. _

_            "But – but, you can't!"_

_            "I need to," James said calmly. _

_            "Like hell you do!" Sirius roared, suddenly furious, and ripped the suitcase out of James' grip. _

_            "Padfoot, please, don't you get it?" James implored. _

_            "Don't you Padfoot me, James Potter! I know perfectly well what's going on! You're leaving to chase after that girl, aren't you?"_

_            James stood very still. _

_            "Yeah," he said at length. "I am."_

_            "No you're not!" Sirius thumped the suitcase down, feeling like a toddler who was being told he couldn't draw on the walls. Except he wasn't a toddler, and he wasn't drawing on walls, he was losing his best friend, to some…some floozy witch!_

_            "Sirius, I _have_ to go! Don't you see? Lily needs me, she can't survive out there by herself!"_

_            "Seems to me she was doing alright before she met you!"_

_            "That was different! She had a home then, friends and family! I love her! I can't let her skip town because she had a few disagreements with the neighbours!"_

_            "James! That's just what she wants you to believe! I can't believe this! That bitch has pulled a thick blindfold over your eyes, James! Look at yourself! The Longbottoms have never been anything but nice to Lily, and she's never done anything but spew out lies right in your face!"_

_            James was too quick; Sirius was pinned against the wall before he got another word in._

_            "Don't," and his voice was as sharp as knives. "Ever. Talk. That way. About Lily, EVER AGAIN!"_

_            Sirius flinched. _

_            "You just don't understand her, Sirius," James whispered, not loosening his hold on Sirius' neck. "I do. She needs space, she's not well fitted in a village, she needs to be free. Didn't you see? She was suffocating here. If anything, I'm glad she left before she went insane from all these horrible accusations the people – and YOU, Sirius! You too! – have thrown at her! She needs me to take care of her!"_

_            "SHE DOESN'T!!" Sirius yelled, pushing back on James. He jabbed a finger in his friend's chest. "She doesn't need you, she doesn't care about you, she left town because she got tired of you!"_

_            "What the hell is the matter with you?" James spat. "I thought you, of all people, would WANT me to be with Lily! Wasn't it _you_ who made up all of those 'infallible plans' to get us together?!"_

_            "That was BEFORE! I didn't know her!" Sirius gripped his friend's shoulders. "Listen to me James, that girl's got more than a few dark secrets hidden behind that pretty face of hers. She's practically brainwashed you already! She never planned to settle down with you, James, can't you see that? It was just part of her SCHEME to take advantage of you, because she was desperate for money and had no place to stay!! She NEVER – LOVED – YOU." _

_            James took an unsteady step back. "No, no – you're lying. Lily wouldn't, I know her, she loves me—"_

_            "She doesn't love you, James," Sirius said, laying a hand on his shoulder. "You know it; you've known it all along."_

_            James shook his head wildly, and the light reflected off his glasses. "No, no, she told me, just a few nights ago…"_

_            "She was lying," Sirius stated, his face etched in rage. "She deceived all of us, especially you. Lord, Remus and I have been praying every night that you might come to your senses soon."_

_            "But!" But James had stopped moving now. His eyes were lowered, and his expression depicted someone had a dagger impaled into his heart. _

_            "I'm sorry, James."_

_            The other didn't speak._

_            "But look on the bright side," Sirius said humourlessly. "At least she's gone now. We'll never have to see her again. You'll get better, don't worry, I know it hurts now –"_

_            "NO!!"_

_Less than a second, James abruptly shoved past Sirius, picked up his suitcase, and shot out the door. _

_            "JAMES!!" Sirius hollered, running after him. _

_            But he was too late. The night's shadow was too thick, and James' dark figure had become smaller and smaller in the distance, Sirius ran faster, but he wasn't fast enough, and James was getting harder to see…and then, he was gone._

_            Sirius stopped running. _

_            He stood alone, in the black of night, the wind whipping all around him, whipping his hair, whipping his face, howling loudly in his ear. _

_            "JAMES!!" Sirius screamed again, but the wind was so strong he couldn't even hear his own echo, and his voice faded away into the emptiness. _

_            ~_

Sirius dropped his head in his hands. It had been so long ago…what was it? Nineteen, almost twenty years ago…and he could still remember so vividly, just like he was experiencing it for the first time…

            It was very painful, to have to accept that your best friend in the whole world had abandoned you, for an unknown girl with a mysterious past and an attractive appearance. Sirius lived in denial for quite a long time, and if it wasn't for Remus, he'd have likely left Hogwarts a long time ago; he really had no one else to hold on to. 

            Sirius had never lost hope that James was still out there in the world, alive and well, but Remus had long since given up, because James never had written, never made contact, and though the two had searched endlessly for him, James pretty much seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth. 

            But now? 

            That kid…

            He had Lily's eyes. He had seen them blazing at him when Sirius had threatened him. Such an intense shade of green…

            He had to be James' son. He just _had_ to be. 

            Downstairs, Remus had managed to apologize profusely on Sirius' behalf, and Harry had long since calmed down. 

            "Yes, so he does have a bit of a temper, as you saw," Remus finished, feeling utterly guilty. Harry had been so kind, and there goes Sirius with his fat mouth, being a jackass again!   He oughtn't have bothered to defend him; Remus felt like stomping on Black until he was a bloody pulp.  

            Harry nodded, yet looked a bit uncomfortable. "I don't really understand your situation, Remus, and I'm not going to pretend that I do. And, er, I don't mean to be rude, but I'm curious: why did your friend faint like that? Do I look _that much like this James?" _

            Remus hesitated. Because, really, it was so odd. "You could be his twin," he admitted, scrutinizing Harry. "Well, I meant at your age. James was our best friend and he left us almost two decades ago." 

            "Oh, I'm sorry."

            "Yes, I'm sorry too. We never did find him. He ran out on us one day, and we tried looking for him, but he'd disappeared. Sirius still foolishly hopes James will return one day, but I'm pretty certain that he died long ago."

            "James…" Harry murmured thoughtfully. "That's a nice name."

            Remus chuckled. "Yeah, he was altogether too proud of it for his own good. A huge ego, James had. That's why when he met Lily, and she easily ignored his charms, he got so quickly infatuated with her." 

            "Marriage?"

            Remus tilted his head. "You know, that's curious, I've never thought about it until now. I was always thinking about James' safety and getting James back, I never gave a second thought to Lily Evans."

            "What, they ran off together?"

            "You could say that," Remus answered, and sighed. 

            Harry laughed. "They probably eloped."

            Remus' eyes widened. 

            He'd never thought of _that_, either. 

            Remus left The Phoenix Feather in a very contemplative mood, but nonetheless felt very refreshed. Whether it was the new face he'd met, or the comfortable aroma he'd been in, Remus wasn't sure. Sirius sulked beside him, Remus having forced him to apologize to Harry, and Harry had graciously accepted with a slightly-mocking wink. Sirius had apparently gotten over the possibility that Harry might be into espionage, but now was dead certain that the lad was "up to no good" and a "deceiving twit", to which Remus replied with "tell me what he did wrong," and Sirius would fall silent. 

            A very entertaining day, to say the least. 

            "He what?!"

            A glass was slammed onto a hard desk and auburn brown liquid sloshed out of its confinements angrily. 

            Peter Pettigrew gulped and wrung his hands together. 

            "He…he opened his shop, Mayor – sir."

            A low growl. 

            "I – I don't particularly think that – that he'll be much of a threat, sir, really," goodness, his fingers were shaking, he was that nervous, "I heard he only sells flowers and things – little trifles of no importance, anyway – and he's so young."

            "Ah!"

            A dry laugh. 

            "Is _that what you're worried about, Pettigrew?" _

            The addressed shifted the weight on his feet, and fought the very overwhelming urge to run out of the room. 

            "Is what, sir?"

            Silver-blonde hair gleamed under the solitary ray of light in the darkened office. 

            "Feeling a bit…guilty, eh, Peter?" The words slurred. "Not too good for your conscience, I imagine, to be murdering people? You're only doing your job, you know."

            Peter Pettigrew's eyes widened, his forehead was pasted with sweat. 

            "No – no, that's not it at all, Mayor- sir. It was only that he hardly seems dangerous at all, not like that scum Hagrid, who you disposed of most marvelously, if I may say so. Sir. He's only a boy selling flowers. After all." His speech was rushed, he was anxious not to upset his superior.

            "No…threat, hmm?"

            A piece of crinkled paper was slid across the polished desk. 

            It was more brown and jagged at the edges. Faded printing spread across the sheet – the format was different, Peter Pettigrew saw, it must be from another town – but in the middle, a large black and white photo caught his attention instantly: messy hair, glasses, that subtle smile – and at the top of the page, the title, bold and clear:

            _Wanted. **DEAD OR ALIVE.** Reward. _

            Peter Pettigrew lowered the page and carefully folded it, pocketed it. He didn't dare look up at was sure to be a maniacal gleam in the grey eyes watching his every move, regarding his every breath with thought. But he didn't need to. 

            His voice was smooth now, all traces of drunkenness gone. 

            "I want him killed."

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Review, mateys!! Arrrr! 


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